Wedding Bells
by Hawkslayer
Summary: Harry and Ruth finally get married but a kidnapping might get in the way of their happy ending. Third in a series, read the first two before this. Disclaimer: I own nothing.
1. Chapter 1

**Right! This is the next in my series, the previous fics being 'Surviving' and 'Alliances'. I hope you all enjoy it! **

Sasha hated computers. They always shut down without warning, hid documents in files that he didn't remember creating, would never connect to the internet… And now, the ridiculous machine had crashed without warning, wiping every trace of the reports that he had been writing for the last six hours from the hard drive. He resisted the urge to throw it against the wall; Mrs Rogers in the flat next door would set her cat on him if he dared make any noise. She already distrusted him because of his Russian accent. Mrs Rogers was in her eighties and still held grudges for the Cold War. She also hated Germans.

He stabbed at random keys, hoping that one of them would be the secret techie's key that they always used to fix a computer, the act of which was always followed by a condescending stare.

"Come on," he muttered. "Work, you stupid piece of American crap. And they have the nerve to say Russian build standards are shit."

He was interrupted in his mutterings by a knock on the door. He glared at it. If this was Mrs Rogers telling him to keep the noise down, he'd put rat poison in her cat food. He yanked the door open, ready to engage in a shouting match.

His father stared back at him, one eyebrow raised. "Everything going well, Sasha?"

Sasha folded his arms. "Oh good. It's you."

"Was that sarcasm? I would have thought you'd be glad of the company."

At that point, Mrs Rogers decided to poke her head around her front door. She glared at Sasha. "Keep the noise down, young man. If I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times. You know that Howard takes his nap at this time of day."

Sasha forced a smile. "Of course. Do send my apologies to Howard."

"Don't take that tone with me, boy. And don't loiter in the corridor, what will people think? You look as though you've been brawling again, though I don't expect any better from your sort."

"Yes, ma'am." _Go away you hideous old bat. _"We'll go inside." _Now fuck off and feed your bloody cat._

He ushered his father into the flat and closed the door under Mrs Rogers' watchful eye.

"What a pleasant woman," Ilya remarked sarcastically.

Sasha rolled his eyes. "That was my lovely next door neighbour. She's convinced that I'm plotting to murder her and her cat. Which I am."

"Her cat?"

"Harold. She named it after her husband." His father raised his eyebrows. "I know, she needs to be sectioned. You didn't come here to talk about my mad neighbours."

"I just wanted to see how you were getting on."

"I'll tell you how I'm getting on. I've been placed under house arrest by my own father, I'm buried under a mountain of paperwork, my computer is broken and I've lost all the work that I've done today! And all of that is your fault!"

Gavrik stared at his son. He replied with great caution. "You are on medical leave, not house arrest."

"Same difference!" Sasha snapped.

"Which you need. You didn't have time to properly recover from being shot before you got involved with this latest case. And now you have even more injuries. You need to rest."

"I'd get as much rest at work!"

"Sasha, please! Just listen for once in your life! You shouldn't even be doing paperwork, you should be resting properly. You're still hurt."

The concern in his father's voice took Sasha by surprise. The events of the last few weeks had affected his father more than him, he knew that, but the pleading tone shocked him. "I'm sorry, father. I know you're worried. I won't do any more work, I'll just rest, okay?"

His father sighed. "Thank you. I didn't mean to shout, but I do worry. You almost died, Sasha, and although you might not have listened to the doctors, but I did, and, frankly, it scared me to death. I'd just feel better if I knew you were resting and recovering properly."

"Okay, father. I'll stay here and rest. And plot the murders of Mrs Rogers and her feral cat." Sasha grinned. "And meanwhile, I'll call Callum and ask him how to fix my computer."

Ilya smiled. "Try to make the murders subtle. I don't want to have to stage a cover up. Are you going to Harry and Ruth's wedding?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Not if you don't want Ruth to plot your murder."

"Joy. Don't you have to get back to your office?"

"Yes, I do. Do you promise not to do any more work?"

"Yes, father. Go, I'll be fine." Sasha opened the door for his father. Ilya embraced his son briefly and left. Sasha closed the door and headed to the sofa. He picked up his phone from the table, dialling Callum's number. "Callum, I need your help. My computer's crashed and I can't turn it on."

"What did you do to it?"

"Nothing! I'm not a complete idiot, you know. I might not be an Oxford graduate but I can use a computer."

"I'll come over. The poor machine needs a professional touch. Don't do anything to make it worse."

Callum disconnected the call and Sasha frowned at the phone. He put the phone and laptop on the table and reached for the newspaper. After a quick glance at the headlines, he turned to the sports pages.

Callum knocked on his door half an hour later. Sasha opened the door and dragged Callum inside before Mrs Rogers could materialise.

"Okay, where's this poor mistreated computer?"

"Hello to you too," Sasha said sourly. "Over here."

"What's up with you?" Callum asked.

"Medical leave," Sasha explained. "And Spartak lost. Again."

"Is that a football team?"

Sasha rolled his eyes. "Can you fix the damn computer?"

"You need to have a bit of patience, mate." Callum frowned at the laptop. "What has the nasty Russian done to you?"

"I didn't do anything! It just crashed."

Callum pressed a button on the keyboard and looked up at Sasha as the screen lit up. The Russian threw up his hands. "I knew it."

**I hope you enjoyed this first chapter; please review! Au revoir! Also, follow me on Twitter: Hawkslayer3**


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry for the long wait for this chapter, I had exams and then I had some turning 20 to do. But I'm back now. **** My friend Eupa wanted to be in the story, so we created the character of Horatio Baldergue. Enjoy!**

Meanwhile, in a more peaceful part of London, Harry and Ruth were staring open-mouthed at their wedding planner. Horatio Baldergue (yes, that was his real name, and no, his parents were not under the influence of drugs or alcohol at the time) was wearing a red velvet smoking jacket, a blue ascot, spats, a monocle and a top hat. He looked rather like a cross between Doctor Who and the Mad Hatter. So far, he had attempted to convince Ruth to indulge in some replicas of classical Greek statues and, on hearing Ruth's enthusiasm for Classics, had made endless references to various Greek plays. The two spooks had taken the weekend off to meet with their wedding planner; despite Ruth's hidden wedding planning talent, she had employed Mr Baldergue to help with the finishing touches. Mr Baldergue was chosen on a recommendation from one of Ruth's choir friends, who described him as 'delightfully camp and flamboyant'. So far, he was living up to that description.

"Darling, you simply must consider an ice sculpture. It would be the very icing on the wedding cake. I know a man-" his eyebrows rose suggestively "-who does the most fabulous sculptures. And swans! Swans would be utterly divine!"

"Mr Baldergue…"

"Please, darling, call me Horatio."

"Horatio, we're getting married in two weeks. I don't think we have time for an ice sculpture. We just need a few flowers for the ceremony and some centrepieces for the reception. And I think the hall has swans in the grounds."

"Oh, darling, my friend can whip up an ice sculpture in half that time. What shall we have? A castle? A sculpture of the bride and groom? Two swans, intertwined? A dolphin?"

"I…"

xxx

Two weeks later, Callum, Dimitri and Erin were mingling with the rest of the guests in the grand foyer of the New Forest manor house. Ilya Gavrik was standing nearby, conversing with a pretty young lady from Ruth's choir.

"Surely she wouldn't go for him," Callum commented. "He's too old for her!"

"She will," a Russian accented voice chipped in. The three MI5 officers turned around to see Sasha standing behind them. "He's probably telling her about his holiday home in the south of France. And the yacht in Monaco."

"You have a yacht in Monaco? And we haven't been invited?"

"My father has a yacht. The only time I'll go anywhere near there is for the Monaco Grand Prix."

"And the house in the France?"

"When I get a week off and my father isn't there."

Callum grinned. "You're still on medical leave, right? So, party at your place?"

Sasha raised his eyebrows. "What is it you say in English? Oh yeah. Dream on."

"You can forget anymore help with your computer."

"There are other techies in the world. You're no great loss."

Erin cleared her throat. "Okay, children. Enough bickering. How about we go and talk to Harry? You two can argue later."

They headed over to where Harry was standing with Malcolm, his beat man. After introductions, Callum grinned at Harry.

"So, any last minute nerves? We can still make a break for it."

Erin elbowed him hard in the ribs. "Everything looks beautiful, Harry. Ruth's taste is excellent."

"What's with the ice sculptures?" Dimitri asked, staring at a sculpture of two dolphins in the shape of a heart that stood by the grand staircase.

Harry sighed. "It was the wedding planner. We needed some help with some last minute details. He talked us into the ice sculptures."

"You got bullied by a wedding planner?" Sasha asked. "You're supposed to be the head of Section D."

"He wanted swans. Live swans. The ice sculptures were a concession."

"The sculptures look fine, Harry," Malcolm reassured him. "We'd better get everyone seated for the ceremony."

"Good luck, Harry," Erin said, smiling.

They returned to their seats, waiting for the ceremony to begin. A string quartet began to play an arrangement of the Prince of Denmark's March and the assembled guests received their first glimpse of the bride. Ruth looked perfect. She wore a beautiful white satin and lace gown and a white tulle veil with pearl and crystal detail. Her bouquet was made up of white and yellow roses. She descended the staircase, followed by her bridesmaids, dressed in pale yellow dresses. Harry stood transfixed. This was his Ruth, the woman who would, in less than an hour, be his wife. She was everything to him.

She reached the bottom of the staircase and took her place next to Harry. She lifted her veil and their eyes met. So lost were they in their perfect moment that they barely heard the registrar's words addressing the assembly. Their worlds stood still until the time came for the most important words of the ceremony. Harry's voice was little more than a whisper when he said:

"I do."

Ruth echoed his words and they exchanged rings. They kissed and a cheer arose from the congregation, along with a wolf whistle, which probably came from Callum. The happy couple broke apart and gazed at each other with smiles that could rival that of the Cheshire cat for brilliance. They signed the relevant papers; finally married against all odds.

In the congregation, Erin sniffed and wiped her eyes. "Weddings always make me cry," she said defensively at Dimitri's raised eyebrow. They stood as Harry and Ruth made their way down the aisle to Mendelssohn's Wedding March. The newly married spooks having left, Erin, Dimitri and Callum made their way over to Sasha and Ilya.

"Such a beautiful wedding," Erin sighed.

Dimitri snorted. "Callum thought so too. He was crying all the way through."

Everyone turned to stare at Callum. The techie turned red all the way to his ears. "I had something in my eye." At the sceptical glances he received, he changed the subject. "So, what do we do now?"

"I believe the custom is to get very drunk," Sasha suggested.

Callum nodded. "Perfect."

**Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please review, I love hearing from readers. **** Also, if anyone fancies reading another awesome Sasha fic, if you haven't already, check out PhoenixFeathers4's fic 'Where Loyalties Lie'. It's an awesome story. **


	3. Chapter 3

**I'm back! Apologies for the wait but exams conspired with a job to make sure I have no free time. Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter, you all rock! **

**This chapter makes reference to a previous kidnapping which takes place in 'Where Loyalties Lie' by PhoenixFeathers4. If you haven't read that fic yet, go and read that, then come back. I'll wait… **

**Back yet? Good. So, I was writing this whilst watching the Wimbledon final, so if it makes no sense, blame Murray. Because, seriously, what a game that was! I screamed so much when he won! You can look forward to me making even less sense while watching the Ashes. Right, on with the show. **

A week later, with Harry and Ruth still on their honeymoon, the most interesting thing that had happened was an intramural Tetris tournament and Callum winning all of Dimitri's money in a game of poker. The Section D spooks had left the Grid early and relocated to a pub where they were meeting Sasha. They were currently waiting for Callum to return to their table with a round of drinks which he had offered to buy with his winnings.

Callum returned to the table, carrying the three drinks with ease, with Sasha following behind. The Russian had returned to work that week, having been driven to the point of madness by medical leave, and looked as though he had not had the same level of inactivity as the MI5 agents. Taking a seat at their table, Sasha nodded a greeting to his fellow spooks.

"Hard week?" Erin asked, noting the dark circles under his eyes.

He nodded. "You'd think that FSB agents could be trusted for two weeks. I returned to work to a pile of paperwork a mile high, fifteen separate complaints about fellow agents and a bail charge." Erin opened her mouth to question the last statement, but Sasha held up a hand. "Don't even ask. I won't stay long, I have to get back home and finish off another stack of paperwork."

"Your father will kill you if he finds out you're working when you're supposed to be resting," Callum remarked.

"If my father's that concerned, he can do my paperwork for me. I won't complain. And I'm no longer on medical leave, meaning that I now have no time to rest."

Callum rolled his eyes. "Useless. Utterly useless."

xxx

When he returned to his apartment building, Sasha had barely stepped into the hallway in which his apartment was located when he sensed something not quite right. He made his way down the hallway cautiously, but the source of concern soon presented itself. A short stocky man stepped from the shadows; he wasn't alone. Held in front of him, a knife at her throat and fighting back tears, was Mrs Rogers. Sasha stood stock still, waiting for the other man to speak.

"Gavrik. You do what I say, she doesn't get hurt. Got me?"

Sasha briefly met Mrs Rogers' pleading gaze, an unspoken promise to get her out of this in his eyes, then raised his eyes to meet those of her captor. "What do you want?"

"My boss wants a little chat with you, Gavrik. No-one has to get hurt if you come quietly."

"I find that hard to believe. Who is your boss?"

"You don't need to know. Now, are you going to be a good boy, or is granny going to get her throat slit?"

Mrs Rogers whimpered in fear and Sasha took a step forward, hands raised in a placating gesture. "Okay, I'll do as you say. Don't hurt her."

"How cute." The man smirked, but released Mrs Rogers and put the knife away. Sasha, seeing his opportunity, leapt at the man, knocking him back into the wall. The man, taken by surprise staggered back, his head meeting the wall with a loud crack. He recovered quickly and swung a large fist at Sasha who dodged, but didn't escape completely; the man's fist caught him a glancing blow to his temple. Even the slight contact was enough to cause him to momentarily lose balance, indicating the strength of his opponent. The other man took advantage of this and followed the punch with a hard shove into the wall. Sasha gasped as his still healing ribs impacted with the hard surface. His breath left him and he slid down the wall, trying to draw breath. His opponent grinned, showing broken and missing teeth and pulled a gun from his waistband. But he didn't aim it at Sasha, instead he turned the barrel towards Mrs Rogers, standing at the sideline of their brawl.

"Please, no. Don't hurt me. I won't tell anyone, just don't hurt me," the old lady begged. The tears were flowing freely down her cheeks and she had fallen to her knees. Her eyes beseeched the man pointing the gun straight at her head. Sasha struggled to his feet, taking in with a glance the grin on the other man's face, Mrs Rogers' terrified expression and then, the minute movement of the man's trigger finger. Without hesitation, Sasha leapt towards Mrs Rogers, knocking her out of the way of the bullet.

For a second, all Sasha felt was pain. Although he had saved Mrs Rogers from the bullet, he had paid the price for his heroics. The bullet had struck him just below his ribs and he could feel blood soaking his shirt and running down his skin. Ignoring the pain and Mrs Rogers' soft sobs, he looked up just in time to see the butt of the gun descending rapidly towards his head, then everything went black.

xxx

He woke in a poorly lit room. He was tied to a metal chair, his hands bound behind him and his ankles tied to the legs of the chair. The wound to his side was still bleeding sluggishly and his head was pounding. He closed his eyes trying to push away the pain and memories of a similar situation in Russia before the disastrous events with Elena Gavrik. Sasha realised, in light of recent events, that his release then had probably had something to do with her intervention. Now he would have no such help. The only bright side was that, despite the frequent complaints about the weather that he had heard from his British acquaintances, the weather in London was nowhere near as cold as it was in Russia. Hypothermia was unlikely this time. This time, however, he had to also contend with a bullet wound which had, no doubt, done some internal damage. Sasha sighed. He was having trouble thinking clearly, darkness was hovering at the edges of his vision and his eyelids were slipping closed. His final thought before he lost consciousness was of Mrs Rogers. He hoped the old lady was safe.

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter. **** In the next chapter, another character will join Sasha in the cell. But, I haven't written that chapter yet, so I want to hear your views. Which character would you like to see kidnapped with Sasha? Leave your vote in a review or PM and we'll let democracy decide! **


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